Shadows of the Slain
by Valairy Scot
Summary: Written for a challenge: a scene taking place within in the three days between Qui-Gon Jinn's death and the Council's arrival on Naboo. Reflections of three who knew the Jedi master and the ties of sorrow that bind them.


**Shadows of the Slain** by Valairy Scot

I wanted to hug them both.

Padmé would. The Queen would not.

Both looked so sad, each in their own way. I knew grief as well, but my grief was not as deep or personal as theirs, divided as it was between a gentle man, slain in my defense, and the suffering of Naboo's citizens I'd left behind in a vain attempt to save them. A Gungan and a boy had done that for me; the Jedi, as well.

One had sacrificed his life.

I still find it hard to believe. Qui-Go Jinn, Jedi master, dead. How could this be?

_How could this be?_ The same question was echoed in both pair of eyes before me.

_How could this be? He is a Jedi; Jedi don't die_, young Anakin's eyes repeated, over and over as tears streamed down his face, replenished after an earlier cry in my arms that had drained him dry.

_How could this be? He is my master; why did he die and I live?_ Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes could not shield his thoughts, no matter his resolute and tear-free face now that he had returned from his unhappy task.

Both of them lost family. I was lucky, mine survived without undue injury.

There is so much to do now that Naboo is liberated; so much to focus on but I focus on those eyes, one pair an azure pool and one pair a stormy cloud, for this minute. I rub my own eyes and lean my head on my fingers for a moment, knowing I have the assistance of many to pick up the slack from my weary fingers.

Has it been just hours or has it been a lifetime? Time, for me, is marked by liberation – before and after. Time, for then, is marked by separation, by death – before and after.

"May I be of some assistance, milady?

The words are repeated before they sink in. I refocus and look into concerned, equally weary eyes and straighten up, somewhat shocked at the level of pain nearly – but not quite – buried within.

_Please, ma'am_. I see the plea he will not speak, the request to be kept busy so he will not have time to dwell on his loss. His hand is shaking, I now see, his conversation with his Council must have strained his composure beyond even a Jedi's ability to hide.

That's when I first wondered if I dared offer a Jedi a Queen's arms as I'd already offered them to a nine-year-old boy.

I'd not known Jedi until recently. Detached and impersonal, impervious to life's turns and twists – "everyone" says so. They don't laugh, they don't cry – they merely snap out, "yes, sir" or "no, ma'am" in crisp tones devoid of personality.

How false – how terribly false that perception.

I hesitate, still wishing to console yet knowing it is not my place. I can and I have held a sobbing young boy within my arms, much as I will hug and console my nieces when I find time to visit them. I do not know how to console a grown man.

I finally see that purpose will always trump his own needs. It is his way and I will honor it.

"Console Anakin, if you will," I ask, for I have already given Anakin time in my arms. I would give him more, but I must give time, if not my arms, to others as well. The young Jedi closes his eyes and nods, then turns and kneels before the boy. He hesitantly extends a hand and Anakin stares at it, then at Kenobi's face. Slowly, his hand comes forward and the two hands join and clasp.

"I miss him, too, Anakin." He swallows hard at this whisper, these barely audible words.

I see this open admission of his feelings is hard for him to speak, but he must see it as a way to connect. He is right. It is right. Anakin flings himself in Kenobi's arms and a lump comes into my throat. I see how Anakin's hands clutch Kenobi, and how Kenobi's arms instinctively tighten around him in return. They need each other; they can help heal each other.

I don't know what the future holds, for any of us.

But somehow, in that future yet to be, I believe Kenobi and Skywalker will be together.

* * *

I have been many things in just a few days. I have been hurt and I have been, yes, Force forgive me, jealous. I have been ashamed of my behavior and I have sought understanding and forgiveness. I found the beginning of peace and I have found – loss, deep and profound – on a level I have never known before.

And I raged against that loss. Anger and hate threatened to fill that hole that pierced me though the wound pierced my master's body.

Somehow I found my soul in my darkest hour. In the midst of smothering darkness I reached for light. The sputtering flame of all that I held dear to both heart and soul once more burned bright within me.

But there is still a hole inside waiting to be filled with something more permanent than grief. That the Force will fill it I have no doubt, when it removes the grief that temporarily resides there. Better grief, than a empty hole that beckons only darkness and despair.

_Grieve, young Obi-Wan. Let acceptance come in its own time._

My lips trembled as Master Yoda spoke those words before signing off.

He had identified the hole within me and given me something to put in it. Grief will be followed by acceptance, acceptance by something yet unknown. That is the way of life. There is peace in that knowledge, if not enough to stop the trembling in my hands.

So into that hole grief has slowly crept; the human part of me that cries for its lost family – my father. _There is no death, there is only the Force._ I shall learn to grieve well, for I shall grieve again. Grief is no less a part of life than joy; one must partake of one to truly know the other.

It is one of life's greatest lessons I am learning now.

Master Yoda, Master Windu, Depa Billaba – all those present in Council grieve as well. I can read a Jedi's emotion in his silences, her blink of an eye. It is a necessary art for us who do not openly display our emotions, no matter how deeply felt they may be.

I do my best to still my hands and return to the Queen's side, a part of my duty done. The young Queen, she who is so brave, is weary, yet I see in her eyes the need to reach out and to comfort. Not just Anakin, whom she has already hugged close, but I. She wishes to comfort and console me, but I cannot – my grief will not allow me to absorb comfort for comfort will break this mask I wear.

I stand alone; I must stand alone because a Jedi stands on his own two or four or six legs because a Jedi leaning on another cannot prop up another in need. So many are in need now. The Naboo – the Gungans – even young Anakin – all are in turmoil now.

It is my job to serve them – my duty and my honor. My responsibility.

_Please, Force, give me the strength to do your will. I have not enough strength of my own._

I will do Qui-Gon proud. _Please, dear Force, help me to help them._

"Console Anakin, if you will," she says softly as if she understands. It is Padmé's voice

though it is the Queen who speaks. Her eyes flick to Anakin. This boy! He does not hear the Force yet, though it courses through him like molten lava.

I let out a silent sigh. I let go my own lingering doubts and look, really look at Anakin – and see not the usurper to my place – but a young, lonely, hurting boy. The Force has opened my eyes – now it is up to me to open my heart.

_You always end up fond of all the pathetic life forms, don't you, padawan mine?_

Remembered words drift through my mind as if in approval. Tears sting my eyes but a Jedi's resolve keeps them locked behind lids that will not admit of weakness when strength is needed.

Prompted by another memory of my master, I kneel before Anakin and offer a piece of myself, a piece of my truth. Nothing less will do.

"I miss him, too, Anakin."

Is it too late, too little? He stares at me, bright blue eyes so like my master's…

… and he throws himself into my now-open arms. I sigh and rest my head on his silky head. He has given me a purpose, and more than that, he has accepted my heart.

I have no doubt now of his answer when I ask him if he will accept me as his master. I will not ask lightly, I will not ask this because of a promise made. I will ask this because it has now become my wish as well. The walls between us have been breached.

The Force has brought us together and our fates are now sealed together. From the ashes of one relationship blooms the seeds of another.

* * *

I am not crying – am NOT. It's just my eyes are leaking pain, or so Mom always said when she kissed the leaks away. Mom's not here and now Qui-Gon isn't either. I bet he'd hug the leaks away. He was like a male version of Mom.

Would that make him like – my father? I want a father so bad. A father would tease me. Like Qui-Gon did. A father would hug me and bandage my cuts. As Qui-Gon did. A father would stand up for me. Qui-Gon did.

I miss Qui-Gon so much. Why'd he have to die? Why Qui-Gon?

I - I want to go home. I want to let Mom take the leaks of pain away with her kisses and hugs. I want to play and have fun with Kitster and Aimee.

If I am sent home, I have to leave Padmé. I don't want to leave her.  
I do still want to be a Jedi, but the Jedi don't want me. They say I'm too old, too angry, but Qui-Gon didn't think so.

I sniffle, and wipe my eyes with my sleeve when I see them looking at me. Padmé smiles like Mom, a little smile that says it is okay to leak pain. Obi-Wan, he looks at me. I don't want to look at him. He'll just tell me I'm crying and I shouldn't – and don't wipe my face with my sleeve.

Won't he?

I sneak a look at his face. Doesn't he miss Qui-Gon? Not at all?

I know I should be brave. Qui-Gon said I am, but I am – you know. What will happen to me now?

"Console Anakin, if you will," Padmé tells Obi-Wan. I don't want to be "consoled" by him. I want Mom, or Padmé, or even Qui-Gon's ghost, but I don't want - .

"I miss him, too, Anakin." My head shoots up and I look at his eyes. They're all kind of bright and damp, like he's leaking pain, too. Just like me.

He's in pain like me, only he's hiding it inside. Mom says some people are like that. Qui-Gon said that, too, when he explained why Obi-Wan wasn't exactly, well, nice. I mean, he wasn't mean or anything, just - not warm and well, nice, like Qui-Gon.

"When he's hurt, he retreats into silence and sometimes – sometimes it comes across the wrong way," he explained. "I hurt him, Ani. I didn't mean to, but I did. We'll sort it out later, and we'll be friends, all of us." His eyes were sad when he said that; I was sad, too, when I saw how he stared after Obi-Wan and seemed to forget me for a minute.

I shuffle my feet and then it's like I'm blown into his open arms. _Wowie! Bam _– just like that, just like I was pushed, maybe by the Force. His arms wrap around me just like Mom, just like Padmé – and just like Qui-Gon and I feel – a sad happy.

I'd rather have Qui-Gon, but I do have someone.

Maybe, just maybe – I dare to hope he likes me. He isn't so bad, perhaps; he hugs well. I squeeze even tighter and he doesn't yell or say stop. He doesn't say anything. He just squeezes even tighter like he needs me as much as I need – him. I feel all warm inside, a good warm.

Maybe, just maybe, the Force will help him help me be a Jedi after all. After all, a man who knows how to hug a kid can't be all that bad, can he?

I hug him tighter. He doesn't let go.


End file.
